On the Axis

It wasn't until I spoke to a friend of mine the other day when I realized that Fall is the beginning period for most things.  The equinoxes are transition periods between warmer and colder weather and essentially the beginning of change. As the the earth transitions to a new found balance, I find it hard for it not to affect us emotionally and physically. Come to think of it, when I ended my last relationship, it was right before spring and I remember feeling a snap in my brain, almost as if it was being leveled. It was the first time that I said to myself, I deserved to be loved. Now I think most of us can agree and say that we deserve to be loved but for me, it was more of an observation than a belief. Three years prior to ending our relationship, we struggled with communication, maintaining interest and when I found out he cheated on me two years ago (wow, feels pretty good to admit this) I felt like it was all my fault, like if I wasn't good looking enough to withstand his sexual preference.

I didn't know any better back then so we decided to stick it out and work on our relationship. We actually had a great year together until he admitted one day that he wasn't sure about his feelings for me. I think I might of twitched a little....what? That was the first time that I realized that my bullshit-o-meter had a limit...and it was toppling. 

After 8 years of putting up with our bullshit (mostly yours) you still have to think about being in love with me? Go fuck yourself asshole, literally. If you want some definition in your left arm, I suggest switching your jerk-off hand, otherwise try not catch asthma after I leave you in the fucking dust...

I didn't say any of that but trust me, when my throat itches I know it's the burden. I still feel the words bouncing in lung space. As frustrated as I was, the idea of being single was pretty exciting. Nerve wrecking but exciting. This may sound a little sad, but I've only been in one relationship. I couldn't get over the fact that I was 24 and had nothing to compare good sex to. Talk about your quarter-life crisis.

Break ups are hard...or maybe I assumed them to be. I think I might of  used my last relationship as a security blanket. Shit, he might of too..but it doesn't matter. It wasn't too long till I found myself craving new skin and when I did, I gave myself a good pat on the back.

And here I am, back at the equinox. Counting the orange leaves like sheep. I often feel tired and overwhelmed balancing karate, school, work and social life but like the axis, my mind is leveled. I find it hard to be sad or upset for a long period of time and when I do, it's usually hormonal. It's strange, I couldn't be more happier in my life. 

Read This Post With a Grain of Salt

Apparently, I think I'm perfect and better than everyone. Maybe that's true.

Like most people, I have insecurities, maybe more than others. I'm a perfectionist and strive to be the best at everything that I do. Within the last year or so, I've gotten better but I've always been extremely hard on myself, especially when I don't stand out. I'm not saying that I like to be the center of attention...ok that's a lie. Sometimes I do. I'm a woman and admit that sometimes my self-worth and esteem is tied into the amount of attention that I receive. In order to feel satisfied with my wardrobe choice and/or remain sane for an entire day, I need to get hit on at least once or else I think 3 things:

1. I gained weight
2. I look like a man (I have big arms and don't like to expose the "guns")
3. I became ugly and like a sickness, it's incurable.

At this point, you can think whatever your want. I wont get offended just just don't tell me. I'm using this entry like a therapy session and  I need to get this negativity out like phlegm. So what's the negativity? Yesterday I got into a argument with the guy I'm dating. We were talking and tip-toeing around religion. I should of known better. Religion is like the grenade of conversations. I mentioned how my uncle and his family were evangelists and how they've seen some pretty crazy things, like people getting possessed and stuff. He mentioned that the  religion sounded like a cult and that he thought they were all lunatics. I knew that he was referring to evangelists in general but it still applied to my family so I got offended. I didn't say anything and carried on the conversation. He mentioned how the church he used to go, everyone would stand and hold candles and he felt that it was a fire hazard because everyone was crammed together. I think he called them fucking crazy or something but mind you he's from Long Island, so he's saying this with a Long Island accent and it sounded pretty aggressive. I told him that I thought he was being a bit harsh and judge mental. He blew up. He said that he was tired of me calling him judge mental and that I disagree with him for the sake of disagreeing. He then said I was condescending, judge mental, insensitive, naive, and I thought I was perfect. The strange thing was, it didn't offend me at all. Like at all. It was his tone that really irked me; that heavy, male, aggressive, Long Island accent. Even though he's pretty smart, I can't help but associate him with an ignorant meat head.

So I've been thinking a lot about this. Maybe I've been subconsciously condescending because I refuse to agree with someone who speaks like that. Come to think of it, if he said " I don't give a fuck who you are, if you harm an innocent animal, you deserve to go to jail" , I think I would find a way to disagree with it even though its essentially within the same moral values that I have.

I'm pretty sensitive so I'm pretty shocked that it didn't bother me when he pretty much said I was a snob. In some aspects it was like, I know...and? I'm not sure how I feel about accepting that. Is this the type of person that I want to be? Someone who judges the shit out of everything, everyone and know that I'm still above them/it? I kind of do. Is that fucked up? Growing up, I was extremely shy. I avoided attention and never participated in class. Blending in became a skill. I never thought anything that I said or did was good enough and to save myself from the embarrassment, I did everything that I could to not be called out. I didn't want to stand out. 

Growing up, I had really low self esteem. I didn't think I was pretty or average looking. I identified myself as being ugly. One of my most painful memories is rubbing Pond cream on my face while sobbing hoping that it would make me beautiful...man that's fucking depressing. I try to remember that on a 5 year interval. When I went to high school, I was towards the end of puberty ( I developed pretty young). I started getting attention from the boys in class or some of the older students. I remember being confused at first. Why are they "psssting" at me? Eventually I realized that I was attractive, became an attention whore and it was all down hill from there. Being recognized gave me a feeling of self worth and purpose, as if I had reason.

Don't worry. I found other things that made me feel more than the last number of pi. Since I was younger, I've always been facisnated by the weather, especially hurricanes and ocean climate. I'm trying to get my masters in atmospheric science and I hope to go into research but even if I change my mind in the future (brace yourself this is going to sound super hippi-esh), I know that my main purpose in life is to make a difference in the world. I think I might of been a tree in my past life or a leaf wedged into a rock for millions of years. When I dig my toes into the ground, I feel a connection that goes beyond gravity.

Okay, where the fuck the I'm going with this. This is the part where the therapist willgesture with his/her head, lets wrap this up. 

Holding a Sweaty Gi

A few weeks ago, I started taking karate classes again. My knuckles are bleeding, my knees are squeaking and I contemplate standing up after sitting down. Ahh...it's good to be back.

I've been inconsistent with karate since I stopped training in Kyukoshin two years ago. I trained with friends, studied Oyama karate and kickboxing for awhile but it was like going to the gym; sweating without passion.

I yearned for discipline. My friend and I signed up at a Kyukoshin school near grand central. Between work, school and karate, I'm physically and emotionally exhausted but my life feels balanced. 

When I earned my black belt three years ago, it didn't feel right. When I came home after being an uchi deshi, it still didn't feel right. Wearing a white belt again makes me feel like I've been born again. this time without the fear of learning. I feel like I've been reincarnated. My white belt is simple, thin and easy to fold. On the right side, my name is written in Japanese with a black sharpie marker. Unlike my black belt, it is perfect. I'm in love.

When I come home and pull my gi out of the bag, the smell of salt is overwhelming. My gi is completely wet but it does not drip. It feels drained. I air it out on a hanger in the middle of the living room. Until the next class, I pass by it like a work of art. My mother gets upset trying to find new places to hang it when guests come over. Eh...I don't have any shame showcasing my pure passion.

Train Rides

I don't know what I'll do without long train rides. For most , living in the city makes transportation a lot easier, especially if you work in Manhattan. I live in the heart of midtown, about a 1/2 block away from the C and E train. I have to admit, its a pretty convenient spot to live in if your stumbling home from a bar at 4am. Through out my entire my life, its taken me about 30 minutes on average to get to any point in the city. Being that I have some form of OCD (totally undiagnosed) that causes me to change into three outfits before leaving the house, its nice that I can rely on the trains being so close to my house but I crave long train rides.

My train rides are pretty short and only allow me to think about how I want to strangle the person leaning on the pole. Serioulsly how inconsiderate is you? Its rush hour and nobody wants to train surf at 9 am. Why the fuck are you leaning agaisnt the pole asshole? 

As train rides get longer, neighborhoods get scarier and most people unmount right on the ghetto borderline of the city. When I finally get to sit, I start to dive into real thoughts. Not the ones where I think about my outfit for the weekend but the kinds that are hidden and brewing some where in the black swirly pits of my brain; the fetus of a great idea.

Humidity and PMS: Miserable but Justified

Ahem.

I have something to admit.

I know that it's difficult to share a small space with me.

My mood swings depend on the day's humidity and/or point in time in my menstrual cycle. It's like a pendulum.

Future note for the next person sharing a room with me : When it comes to avoiding things that would make a typical person irritable, with me, there is nothing you can do. I am a full blown diva; there are specific things you will need to do and/or say to stay on my do-not-shank side.

Currently I share an office with my co-worker, who in time, became a pretty good friend of mine. We share a lot of the same interests. We have similar taste in music. She likes Sailor Moon. I really couldn't ask for a better office-mate so is wrong that sometimes I just want to close a blind in front of her face?

Yea, I really don't want to hear about another deal that you found in your spam email. Night night, face.

Most of the time, I really don't mind hearing about good deals. Who doesn't like a good deal? But she multi-tasks a lot of the time. She's one of those people that can't tell you a story without reading 3 emails, filling out an expense report and learning another language all at the same time.

Hey Stephanie! How was your weekend?

Uuuuuuhhhhhhhhhhhhhh....

What's for lunch?

Uuuuuuhhhhhhhhhhhhhh....

Any plans for the holidays?

Uuuuuuhhhhhhhhhhhhhh....

I'm going to feast on your flesh and suck on your corpse until it' is crimson black. Cool?

Uuuuuuhhhhhhhhhhhhhh....

It's not that bad all the time. It just happens to be a humid day in the city.

I don't have patience for tourists and their fascination with skyscrapers. I get it. It looks like a fucking penis but why can't they be considerate like the creepos in front of the porn shop? Yo tourists, do me a favor. Try to get horny on the side of the street. Not in the fucking middle, during rush hour within the vicinity of Times Square. Why? Because I'm competing in a personal race and I need to get to my destination earlier than I did yesterday . You're ruining my momentum. Stop getting in the fucking way. If I could, I would clothesline a family of tourists. Kids, babies, seniors, strollers, pregnant women and all. Would I feel guilty? Nope.

Clothesline a family of tourists...Check

Why I Shouldn't be a Film Director

So here I am , at the Malverne train station in Long Island, trying to be non chalant and casual sitting on a bench after realizing that my bra strap has completely snapped. It's a gorgeous day and the men are mowing and cleaning up the grass. They appear now more frequently as I awkwardly try to sit up so that the cups on the bra still cover my breast. You see, it's pretty chilly, I would say chillier than most days and I am wearing a thin white shirt that falls right off the shoulders. I have about an hour until my train arrives which is an hour for me to find a public restroom to fix this thing but everything in this town is super local. Yes, super local. Not even a Starbucks in sight and everything is closed either because they are too busy frolicking in the flowers or because its fucking Monday and people don't casually around looking for coffee at 11am in Malverne. I'm pretty sure the men working by the grass know the deal under my shirt. Oh god, I hope they don't think I'm a hooker. Not to pull the racist card but  besides the red bricks on the ground, I'm the only tanned thing in this town. The guy I'm dating happens to live in Malverne and never met anyone Dominican before me so when he tried to make racist jokes about my ethnicity, he kept bringing it back to sombreros and "arriba arriba" , which I thought was his attempt to be sarcastic but when he couldn't move pass on what seemed like Speedy Gonzales references, I knew he didn't have a clue about Dominican culture. Oh god, they probably think I'm a Mexican prostitute.

Note: I'd normally rip into this guy but he's harmless and super sweet. 

Ehh, I guess it could be worst. It could be raining, 10 degrees cooler , and/or my nips could be so hard that they'd pop through my bra like instant popcorn. The men could be walking around and happen to find something to put their 'butter' on. I know, I'm pretty sick but I'm terrified of being raped. Plus, I live in the city. I know what's its like to be at a train station at 2 in the morning and feel a man stare at you for a second too long with his eyes half-opened. You know what they're thinking? RAPE. Its either that or they could be high out of their minds , frightened that they've seen a life-sized twix bar. Either way, I'm not a fucking twix bar and I refuse to get raped. 

I forgot the name of the movie, but wasnt there this film about a girl with a vagina that ate and/or slash dicks or something? And she couldn't have sex because her vagina would go zombie mode? I think it was a horror flick but I'd swear if it were up to me, I'd advertise it as a super hero movie.   Not sayin that I'd want a rabid vagina... okay so I'm totally saying that. I'm all for gender equality but lets face it here , when it comes to strength amongst men and women, it isnt a social issue, its a biological one. Besides women saying no,  there arent any real boundaries between men and sex.  Most species have natural defenses against their counterparts. Whats a women natural defense agaisnt men? Sorry, can't think of any. I'm pro-zombie vagina.

La Americana

Sometimes I have a hard time identifying myself as a Dominican. I mean it's not that hard. Both of my parents were born and raised there. My father barely speaks English and vapor rub was and continues to be the cure for all things. I love bachata and can't picture a life without Mangu and passion fruit so what the fuck am I talking about? Well I was raised in New York. Hell's Kitchen in fact, a neighborhood now known for it's night life, gay pride and or both and not for it's small immigrant population that got away with living in the middle of Manhattan with some sort of subsidized housing. Growing up, my father would blast bachata on the weekends and dance in the middle of our living room by himself with one hand on his stomach and the other up in the air. The cold Corona that stood on top of the T.V stand , slightly turned warmer and lighter as he consistently took sips; fueling his drunken solo-waltz. Every time white people passed by our window, their heads would turn, puzzled by sounds of the chichara, bongos and the single but fast plucking of the electric guitar. The smell of fried salami would consume and bring me in and out of the kitchen as I impatiently waited for my mom to finish cooking breakfast, as Frank Reyes belted out on my fathers stereo about wanting to return to the Island.

I consider myself to be pretty fluent in Spanish with the exception that I mispronounce a few words here and there. I'm trying to clean up my grammar and pronunciation by speaking Spanish to my parents a lot more but I can't help but feel foreign when I have trouble explaining how the Masters program works at City College. I'm pretty sure they're convinced that I'm doing my bachelors all over again.

I plan on living in the states for a long time but when I let my mind wander and restrain it from multitasking, I think about the coconuts on the top of the palm tree huddling like a group of hands; fingers fixed into the crevices and interlocking into a ten-finger fist, waiting to endure a strong but crisp wind from the glittering aqua green.

A Sad Hippie

It's funny how we think about our futures. How we envision ourselves; our lives, after we've accomplished and reached our career, academic and personal goals. Before the invisible finish line,  perspiration is nothing without inspiration. The sweat, the tears, the dry seasoned taste of our skins; the salt that is left lingering on our lips is nothing but flavor of passion.

When I think about my future, when I am no long churning like clockwork, I don't picture myself with a degree in hand . I try to picture myself lying flat on a beach eating spaghetti sandwiches while drinking jugo de chinola but I can only make the sand and nothing else. When I envision my 32 year old self, I see myself crouching in a off-white sweater right between two beige curtains that go softly go up and down like tides of milk. In front of me is a child but the gender still isn't clear and I'm laughing, probably something that the child is pointing to and I know that the air in this moment has no personal weight as I envision my lungs expanding, struggle-free.